


hair colour

by amuk



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Missing Scene, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 00:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: Sometimes, teasing Steve as like picking low fruit. --Natasha, Steve





	hair colour

**Author's Note:**

> written for themysteriousangstninja, the romanrogers secret santa. Hope you enjoy it! 😊

 

“So, you’re going blonde?” Steve asked, his fingers running through her hair as he untangled her damp locks.

 

Considering they were in the process of dying her hair, it was a little late to ask that question. Natasha cracked her eye open, tilting her head back on her chair so she could look up at him. “Yes,” she repeated, shooting him a blank stare. “Unless you have a different hair dye there.”

 

He glanced at the bottle of blonde dye on the sink before giving a defeated shrug. “That’s too bad. I liked red.”

 

“Really, I couldn’t tell,” she drawled, facing forward once more. The motel bathroom was tiny and cramped, worn wallpapers covering the wall. It wasn’t her first time doing this in a cheap room. It was her first time, however, having someone else do it for her. “I can change it back later, it’s not like this is permanent.”

 

His hands stopped massaging her scalp. “Wait, is red even—”

 

“You tell me, does the carpet match the drapes?” she asked with a leer.

 

It was low fruit; Steve was too much of a gentleman to not look embarrassed. A light pink tinted his cheeks as he turned away and he would never get used to sexual innuendos. It was miracle he was fine with public displays of affection now, but she wasn’t sure if that was him getting used to it or just her adjusting to him. “I-I suppose so.”

 

Natasha chuckled. “Trick question—a spy knows to dye everything.”

 

“Oh.” His ears were redder now at the implication. “I…I don’t think I—”

 

“I’m not having you do it.” Rolling her eyes, she reached behind her to grab a pair of plastic gloves. Holding them out, she added, “And to answer your question, red is my original colour. Give it some time and it’ll come back.”

 

“Great.” Relieved, he took the gloves.

 

Just as he was putting them on, she added, “In some places quicker than others.”

 

Too easy, really, but his reactions never got old. This time he shot her a grumpy glare as he opened the bottle of hair dye. He stirred the bowl behind her, a soft sloshing sound as the brush mixed the water and dye. It was a little strange, leaving her back so undefended. It was all she could do to not keep her shoulders tense, to look listen to every little thing he did.

 

She stared at the faded wallpaper instead, at the pink roses that must have once been red. Sam was still out somewhere, getting food, and it was a little easier to travel now that Bucky was off in Wakanda. It was just as well, she didn’t really want either to see her like this. Vulnerable. Defenseless.

 

Gentle hands combed her hair, brushing in small dabs of dye at a time. It was more relaxing than she thought it would be. Aloud, she mused, “Should we dye your hair too?”

 

His fingers stilled as he considered it. “I have my beard.”

 

“Men.” She rolled her eyes; Sam had the same response. At this rate, the next time she met Fury, he’d have a goatee and call it a day. “A moustache and a beard can only hide so much.”

 

“It hides enough.” Steve applied more dye to her hair, brushing it in lock by lock. “I just need to them to not look twice.”

 

“You want them to not look at all.” Natasha leaned back, looking up at him. “You’d make a terrible spy.”

 

“It’s a good thing that you’re here to teach us,” Steve answered, a twinkle in his eye and an easy smile on his face. No, that wasn’t right; smiles were always easy for him.

 

Perhaps it was the vulnerability, the oddness of the situation that made her feel unusually tender. Reaching up, she grabbed his collar and pulled him down for a kiss. His beard scratched her skin, almost tickling her. Above her, his hands hovered awkwardly, not wanting to smudge her hair dye, not knowing where to land. Eventually he settled for the edge of her chair. Natasha could smell pine needles from his skin, the new body wash finally masking his old scent. She pulled apart. “Lesson one, you need a thicker beard.”

 

Steve blinked before breaking out into laughter. “I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am.”

 


End file.
